Motorcycles and Sweetgrass

“Then, from the recesses of his damaged mind, she appeared. The face that had once stopped him from wandering the country, the body that made him forget all others (at that time anyway) and the smile that had made him hold his breath. […] This was more than a flashback. It was more than an idle memory. This—she—was real. For some reason, he looked out the window again, this time to the horizon, his eyes gazing to the far north where he had once roamed the forest, comment had swum in the lakes. Something was calling to him.”

Suffering from his drunken debauchery, Nanabush suddenly perceives a summoning from Lillian, the girl with whom he swam in Otter Lake. Taylor implies that the demigod’s wretched condition is the result of losing inspiration: No one had prayed to him, leaving him no sense of purpose. Lillian’s appeal begins a chain of events that will renew his spiritual calling.

“The Otter Lake First Nation had recently bought a huge chunk of land adjacent to the Reserve, and this had introduced a whole whack of problems into Maggie’s political life, which far too often drifted into her personal life. […] And of course the idea of Native people getting more land was an absurd concept to most non-Natives. Five hundred years of colonization had told them you took land away from Native people, you didn’t let them buy it back.”

When the Anishnawbe purchase 300 acres adjoining their reserve, Maggie bristles at the irony of Indigenous people having to purchase land stolen from them by white colonists. More galling is that the descendants of these colonists do not trust the Anishnawbe nation to make its own decisions about the land and resent losing the tax revenues the land would generate. The passage demonstrates the prejudice Indigenous peoples still face.

“‘I don’t think I ever asked you this, Mom, but how much of these stories do you actually believe?’

[…] ‘Enough, I guess. I remember when I was young, I was taught that we all live on the back of a Giant Turtle. Didn’t much believe that then or now. Then I was taught this stuff. The earth was created in seven days. Heck, it took the band council here two years just to pass a membership code. I read somewhere that most religions have pretty much the same message, they just use different books. I believe enough in this book to know what’s right and what’s wrong. What’s good and what’s bad.’”

This deathbed conversation between Maggie and Lillian happens after Maggie notices Lillian has both a dreamcatcher and a cross on her bedroom wall. Lillian’s faith confession reveals the pragmatic nature of her religion. A disciplinarian with her children, Lillian has instilled in them an abiding sense of right and wrong, yet Lillian does not feel bound by the rigorous moral principles of Catholicism or her original Indigenous beliefs.

“Lillian looked out the window. ‘I called someone. I think this place, and especially you, my lovely daughter, need some magic in your life. So does your son.’

‘Magic? What are you talking about? And who did you call?’

‘You don’t know him. I’m not sure if he’s still around. I hope he is. I hope he heard me. […] You wouldn’t understand. It’s an Anishnawbe thing.’

‘Mom, I’m Anishnawbe. We all are.'

Lillian put her hand on Maggie’s shoulder. ‘No child, you’re what they call nowadays a First Nations. They don’t necessarily mean the same thing.’”

Lillian’s assertion that she called someone to bring magic makes no sense to Maggie, and Lillian knows not to try to explain her summoning of Nanabush—her totally practical daughter would not believe it. Lillian sees that Maggie does not grasp the difference between generations of Indigenous people: Lillian grew up at a time of cultural repression and residential schools, while Maggie lives at a time when the Canadian government is more sensitive to the rights of First Nations communities. Still, Lillian also knows that untrammeled Indigenous culture and beliefs no longer exist. Lillian summons Nanabush, the embodiment of Indigenous traditions, to empower her daughter and grandson.

“There was also, of course, Lillian’s last request. It was complicated, but most things with women were, he thought. Still, it might be fun. Could be interesting too. And he had all the time in the world. For someone like him, fun and interesting trumped most things. Once more he turned his attention to Lillian’s beautiful daughter. He’d only glimpsed her back at the house. […] Now he had a purpose, and he was happy.”

As Nanabush watches the mourners at Lillian’s funeral, he considers his options. Nanabush lives with an amazing degree of freedom and openness—his sense of infinite possibility, which he later describes to Virgil as ignoring or going through dead ends, is the diametric opposite of typical human complacency, acceptance of the status quo, and unwillingness to change even a destructive pattern. Maggie, whose life Nanabush is about to disrupt, is caught in exactly this kind of rut.

“Maggie didn’t know how to put it into words. It was the idea of riding through downtown Otter Lake, straddling this hard-to-ignore motorcycle, this equally hard-to-ignore gentleman’s arms wrapped around her. A chief on a Chief. There was bound to be talk. And there was something else.

‘Who are you?’ asked Maggie.

‘Me? I’m a friend of your mother’s. […] Let’s just say I know a side of your mother that you probably don’t.’”

In their first meeting, the trickster god Nanabush deploys most of his interpersonal powers to charm Maggie despite her misgivings and sense of propriety. The meeting is a trick—he has sliced a hole in her tire to ensure that she becomes trapped outside of town so he can ride in to the rescue. By giving her a ride on his motorcycle, he invokes his uncanny sexual appeal to kindle her desire and thus overcome her concerns. Maggie’s encounters with Nanabush tend to fill her with wonder and joy she has not known for years—this is the magic Lillian hoped Nanabush would bring her daughter.

“What did this Jesus have to offer? Everlasting life? John had been around quite a long time himself and he knew the novelty wore off. And most people led dull lives anyway, so what was the draw? There was that place called heaven, but it seemed too hard to get into. Too many rules to follow to get them to open the door. Jesus looked to be in so much pain so sad, so pathetic, so alone. […] The more the stranger gazed at the figure on the cross, the less he understood what power Jesus had had over Lillian, and so many others.”

The demigod Nanabush reflects upon the differences in his own stories and those of Jesus, a demigod figure from Christian mythology, who is also the child of a human mother and divine father. Nanabush’s satirical comparisons challenge readers to compare the demands and promises of Catholicism to the more animistic beliefs of Indigenous peoples. Throughout the narrative, Taylor contrasts the solemnity of Christianity with the playfulness of the trickster god’s faith.

“You have to understand, your mother came from a time when people still believed in mystical and magical things. The forest was alive. There were spirits everywhere. I mean look at the Anishnawbe language itself—the only change in tense is when something is either active or inactive. Basically alive or not alive. That says it all. Today’s world is very different. How active or magical is your Band Office? Not a lot seems alive today to those old-fashioned Indians. I think she wanted you to understand some of what she felt growing up. It made life more interesting, and more Anishnawbe. I think Lillian wanted that for both of you.”

In describing Lillian’s spirituality, Nanabush unknowingly uses the same word, “magical,” that Lillian used in her last conversation with Maggie. In the novel, Nanabush is the author of mystical happenings, coincidences, and seeming impossibilities, as here when Maggie confronts him about being an old friend of Lillian’s when he seems younger than Maggie. Taylor contrasts the feelings Maggie has about her official duties—drudgery, boredom, frustration—to the feelings the demigod engenders—uncertainty, excitement, and sexual attraction.

“She saw the stranger take his clothes off and dive into the water. She knew that watching him do this was yet another thing her parents would have been upset about, but she saw it as no different than looking at that big statue of a naked man they had over in Italy.

Several times John disappeared beneath the dark water for long periods, and the last time, she was sure she had lost him. Dakota was dangerously close to calling 911 when she saw him haul himself quickly out of the water onto the dock. Breathing a sigh of relief, she continued to watch as he stretched, dried and dressed himself. Slowly. It was a cool spring night but she didn’t feel the temperature going down.”

Only a few years younger than Lillian had been when she swam naked with Nanabush in Otter Lake, 13-year-old Dakota is on the verge of discovering her adolescent sexuality. Dakota is smitten by Nanabush from the instant she sees him. Unlike her grandmother, however, Dakota is extremely naïve and vulnerable. For Taylor, Dakota symbolizes the innocence of a new Indigenous generation that Nanabush has been summoned to enchant, challenge, and empower.

“Laughing, he shook his head. ‘No. You must have me confused with another incredibly handsome motorcyclist who knew your mother. My eyes have always been hazel. As long as I can remember. You can’t change something like that. I know you mentioned green the other night and I was going to correct you, but I learned long ago never to correct a beautiful woman. Ladies, ‘til next time.’

And with a chivalrous nod of his head, he turned and left the bar leaving behind four women in various states of infatuation.”

Just as Nanabush changes his last name every time he introduces himself to another person, so too do his eyes regularly change color, going from blue to green, hazel, amber, and finally brown. His lies about these transformations reinforce his trickster nature: He is an intentionally beguiling presence to Otter Lake’s women in the narrative and a visceral challenge to virtually all its men.

“Remembering the cadence of his mother’s storytelling voice, he mimicked it as the memory came to him. ‘So, one hot summer day, Nanbush [sic] and the grass decided to settle the issue. At dawn, they began, and they danced, and danced, and danced some more…’

Virgil picked up the story. ‘They danced all day and night, and the next day, forever it seemed, until they both fell down on the ground, exhausted. Because neither won.’ […]

‘I know,’ acknowledged Wayne. ‘It was almost like she knew Nanabush. She had so many Nanabush stories.’”

For the first time, the true name of the trickster is mentioned along with some of his traditional characteristics. Wayne and Virgil are exactly where Lillian intended: Virgil, who saw the passionate kiss between his dying grandmother and Nanabush, has reached out to Wayne, who has been avoiding traveling from his island to the mainland to avoid grieving for his mother. Lillian’s goal was to draw Wayne, the most Anishnawbe of her children, back into the world as the embodiment of the traditional ways. It is ironic that Wayne tells Virgil the story of Nanabush dancing against the grass: Later in the novel, Wayne and Nanabush will square off in a lengthy fight that, like the dance, neither really wins.

“‘From what I can make out by what he says between soliloquies, he went to residential school.’

‘Yeah, I know that much. My mother was there with him, as well as a few others. Told me some pretty horrible things happened to him. She was so lucky she was there only two years.’

‘I find you make your own luck.’”

This conversation between Nanabush and Maggie contains one of the most pointed references to the compulsory boarding schools Indigenous children attended until the latter part of the 20^th century. In Chapter 1, a young Lillian snuck to the punishment shed where Sammy was confined—while he threatened to run away, she reminded him of the doors the school would open; ironically, while she left after only two years, Sammy remained long enough to be permanently damaged by the experience. Nanabush’s reference to making one’s “own luck” echoes Lillian choosing the school over him.

“‘She used to love swimming here. Even brought some boyfriends to go skinny-dipping, I believe. Bet you didn’t know that.’

Shocked at the idea, Maggie pushed John’s shoulder. ‘My mother! Virgil’s grandmother. I don’t think so.’

‘It’s true. She was a very passionate young woman. Grandmothers aren’t born grandmothers. Wise men and women aren’t born wise—wisdom is something achieved over years of experience. And for some, that experience includes...skinny dipping.’”

Nanabush, as John, brings Maggie to the place where he swam with her mother just before Lillian left for the residential school. His intent, as Lillian desired, is to bring magic into Maggie’s life. In effect, he is reversing what happened to her mother, who returned from the school having been assimilated. For Maggie, who is less traditionally Anishnawbe than her mother was, Nanabush intends to rekindle the passion and power he experienced in the youthful Lillian.

“‘I found out your mother isn’t here. She went off with some guy named Caliban.’

‘Caliban? Who’s Caliban? His name is John Tanner. Sammy is nuts.’

[…] ‘Sammy decided to call him Caliban. Suited him better, he says.’”

Sammy, who speaks only in Shakespearian verse as a result of his abuse in the residential school, refers to John/Nanabush as Caliban, the half-human monster from Shakespeare’s play The Tempest. The nickname is fitting: Like Nanabush, Caliban has very human appetites, finds his impulses impossible to resist, and broods about becoming more powerful.

“‘Virgil, that…that guy just might…I know this sounds crazy…but he could be Nanabush.’ […] Well, I guess he could also be called Nanabouzoo, and generically, the Trickster. He’s known by a lot of different names by different people.’

‘Jesus, Uncle Wayne! You’re crazier than he is. Nanabush doesn’t exist. He’s a made up guy, from Native stories. […] I mean, besides the fact that Nanabush is make-believe, John is White.’ […]

‘Tricksters have the ability to change their shape, Virgil.’”

Having observed the protracted argument between Nanabush and the raccoons of Otter Lake, Wayne concludes that only the demigod Nanabush is capable of such strange behavior. After dealing with their disbelief, Wayne and Virgil decide that although the legendary trickster might be dangerous, they need to protect Maggie’s welfare. By appearing as a white man bent on seducing an Indigenous woman, Nanabush spurs her brother and son into action to reclaim their traditions and heritage.

“you see, Virgil, many cultures, ours included, believe the west is the land of the dead.”

Things clicked for Virgil. ‘The setting sun!’

‘Exactly. He arrived, and your grandmother, my mother, went west. […] and now, maybe, he has developed an infatuation with your mom.’

‘Oh my god! I just thought he wanted to move to Vancouver with her. Mom…in the land of the dead. Uncle Wayne, I don’t want her to die.’”

Wayne and Virgil struggle to understand Nanabush’s intentions. They fear that the petroglyph depicting the setting sun refers to his intention to take Maggie to the land of the dead. Comically, the carving turns out to be a sex joke—Nanabush wants to meet Maggie at the Setting Sun Motel. Virgil’s concern over his mother’s fate forces him to act, overcoming his resentful passivity. Likewise, Wayne must reengage with the family he has been assiduously avoiding.

“‘So anyway, he woke me up, told me to go to bed, but before that, we talked. He’s a really good talker. He told me a little about the constellations too, the Native names, and so much more. We talked and talked and talked. You’re so lucky he likes your mother.’

Lucky wasn’t the word that immediately came to Virgil’s mind.

‘So why were you so sad looking, just now?’

‘I think I’m in love. There’s only, like, ten- or fifteen-years’ difference between us. Think that matters?’”

After Virgil’s cousin Dakota confesses that she watched Maggie and Nanabush have sex on the Beer Bay dock, she reveals that she does not fully understand what she has seen. It then comes as a relief that Nanabush does not try to seduce this child; instead of initiating her into sexual knowledge that she is not ready for, Nanabush teaches Dakota what is much more valuable for this girl: a bit of Indigenous astronomy that she has not known before.

“‘Your mother doesn’t believe it. That’s a problem. She’s so stuck in the White man’s world, this whole possibility is inconceivable. Momma, your grandmother, always told me magic was possible.’

[…] Virgil seemed to choose his words carefully before speaking. ‘If he does exist, I mean Nanabush, if it is him, doesn’t that kinda open the door for a lot of questions? Scary one.’”

After Wayne encounters Dan and Sammy, whose lives have been permanently disrupted by white culture, Wayne senses that Maggie’s worldview has been subtly corrupted as well. Modern life in majority-white Canada has robbed Indigenous people of their peace of mind and cultural beliefs, but Virgil points out an alternative: using traditional Anishnawbe beliefs to open the door to incredible power. The characters face a choice: the manageable white world where everything can be explained and is under control, or the Indigenous world, where everything is alive, and anything is possible.

“For over a hundred years, scientists and science fiction writers all over the world had debated the possibility of time travel, the ability to instantly place oneself in a different decade or century. All they had to do was come to this small house, located along a quiet country road, on an obscure Native Reserve in Ontario, and they would find evidence it was possible. It existed in the mind of a seventy-three-year-old man who, every night, was once again barely seven, or twelve, or fifteen, trying to survive… […]…he cried now as he had cried then. Time travel was not a thing of wonder, of amazement and opportunity. It was an inescapable and soul-wrenching reality: a curse.”

Sammy’s PTSD and alcoholism are the direct result of the mistreatment he received during his years at the residential school. The novel suggests that not all magic is beneficent: For example, Sammy’s nightly time travel back to the horrors of his youth shows its destructive power.

“At one point, a small chickadee, buffeted by the storm, fell to the ground, stunned. At first the man just looked at the small, still bird, lying motionless in the grass. The man knew that death was as much a part of nature as the storm he was witnessing. The potential death of such a tiny creature meant little in the overall scheme of the world. This miniature creature would die and it would not be missed. For reasons of his own, the man thought maybe this was a little unfair. Life was always preferable to an unnecessary death. He too was worried about not being missed, should he be forced to move on.”

The thunderstorm, a symbol of life, was one of the requests made by Lillian. Ironically, this show of natural power shuts down the electricity—the white man’s artificial source of power—and very nearly kills a bird that Nanabush rescues. Having spent the day at a history museum viewing exhibits of the Indigenous past and the bones of extinct creatures with whom he had once interacted, Nanabush recognizes his mortality. He reaffirms his intention to leave “his mark” (259).

“‘Your people are my people too.’

‘Tell that to all your priests and ministers who used to look after my people. Tell it to Sammy Aandeg.’

‘Yeah, I’m getting a lot of that lately. Well, blame free will and all that.’

‘Well, they had more free will than Sammy did. And yet, you forgive them for all the horrible things they did? I’ll always have trouble figuring that one out.’”

In a dream, Jesus introduces himself to Nanabush, and they discuss their different roles in the lives of the humans to whom they minister. Just before Jesus accuses Nanabush of unprincipled impulsivity, Nanabush confronts Jesus over the treatment indigenous peoples received from Christians. Taylor contrasts these two versions of immanent godliness without making an ultimate judgment about which is best.

“‘I do know one thing. According to everything I’ve ever read about him, Nanabush can be hurt. He can feel pain. And if it comes to that…it comes to that. […] Most people think Nanabush is a lovable goof, a children’s character. But he is more human than most humans, he has all their nobility, and all their faults—magnified. He’s a wild card, Virgil. I am going to be as wild as him. What that means…ask me tomorrow.’”

Soon after Nanabush’s interaction with Jesus, Wayne makes two observations about Nanabush. First, he likens the demigod to Jesus because both are mortal. Second, by describing Nanabush as more human than humans, Wayne is essentially saying that people are created in Nanabush’s image. Nanabush is a mythic figure that gives full height and depth to human possibilities.

“Then Maggie Second, chief of Otter Lake, completed this impromptu meeting with John Tanner/Richardson/Clayton/Prestor/Frum/Smith by kicking him squarely in the crotch. […] Feeling confident that her point had been made, Maggie found the strength to walk shakily to her front steps. She turned back to him. ‘Get off my Reserve,’ she snarled. […] You have half an hour to get your White ass out of here.”

Nanabush’s spell over Maggie is shattered by the revelation that he stole bones from the museum to seed the 300 acres newly bought by the reservation. It makes sense that when Nanabush puts aside his trickster nature to be honest, he loses his power of charm and sexual appeal—sincerity goes against what his divinity stands for.